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“Love is like a playing a slot machine,” Dottie chimes in. “You invest time and effort, not to mention money, and all you can do is hope that it eventually pays off. I hate to break it to you, dear, but the odds are against us.” Dottie shares another philosophical anecdote about love. She’s a love cynic, married and divorced three times. Her fourth husband just left her for a seventy-five-year-old water aerobics instructor, so she cleaned out his bank account and jumped on a plane to Vegas.
She’s the perfect person to commiserate with. Dottie understands what it’s like to put yourself out there time and time again only to have it end in disappointment. We’re kindred spirits, her and I.
Jess narrows her eyes at the sweet old woman, then turns back to me.
“You and Alec were not meant to be. You said so yourself. The timing of his engagement is awful, but when you’re ready you’ll find someone.”
I appreciate Jess’s optimism.
After previous breakups, I’ve shared it. Instead of dwelling on a failed relationship, I’ve always been willing and ready to move forward, onto the next. Truth be told, I’m tired of it all. Dating. Love. Giving someone your heart just so they can hand it back to you with scars and bruises. Hearts should be like vacation rentals and require a damage deposit for use. Must return in original condition.
Alec is the latest in a string of committed relationships that I thought would last forever. It’s because that’s what I want, to find love and get married. Watching my parents’ relationship, seeing the love they still have for each other over thirty years later, that’s what I want. When I get married, it will be forever.
“Maybe it’s time to let go of my dream.”
Jess looks alarmed. “You can’t let Alec moving on make you change what you want. That’s not being true to yourself.”
“No. I still want those things, but maybe I need to relax the timeline. Take the pressure off.” I take another sip. “Date more than one guy at a time. Play the field.” My hand holding the champagne bottle flings out to the side and some bubbly splashes out of it. “Sow my wild oats.”
“Your oats are not wild, Emma. They’re serial monogamists.”
I look at Jess’s concerned face.
“Well, that needs to change,” I say, my attention drifting to the flashing billboard on the far side of the casino. The screen goes black and then a group of men wearing trench coats appear, their faces bowed to the ground as they tip their hats down. It flashes again and their chests are bare. There’s another flash coordinated with hip thrusting and a final flash with Rainin’ Men scrawled across the screen. A smile pulls at the corners of my mouth.
“I have an idea.”
Jess’s eyes narrow with doubt. “What can be better than room service and Patrick Swayze?”
I don’t respond, I’m too busy dumping the rest of my pennies into Dottie’s bucket. “Light ‘em up, Dottie!” Her crooked fingers give me a wave of gratitude, before I grab Jess’s arm and lead her across the casino. A quick search on my phone indicates that there is a Rainin’ Men show in twenty minutes, and lucky for us, the theater is an escalator ride away.
“What are we doing?” Jess calls from behind me, but I don’t have to respond because a moment later we’re in front of the theater. There’s not much of a line. It appears most people have already purchased their tickets and been seated.
“Two, please.” I slide my credit card under the plastic screen to the box office attendant. “You know how I feel about Mr. Swayze, but I think we need something new tonight.”
“Are we seriously going to a male revue show?” Jess’s eyes are wide, but I can tell by the way she’s fighting a smile that she’s enticed by the idea.
“Yes.”
Jess nods in approval and accepts the ticket I hand her.
The man at the door tears off the end of our tickets, and after an ID check, fits a bracelet around each of our wrists. He motions us to go through the lobby and toward another door. Inside that door, the theater lights are low and thanks to the sconces on the walls, there’s a red glow to the room.
“How many in your party?” the usher asks.
“Two,” I announce.
The usher eyes me and Jess. Or at least I think he’s looking at us collectively until I catch him checking out my dress.
“Bachelorette?” he asks.
“Um…” I hesitate, but then nod excitedly. “Yes!”
He motions toward the door. “Right this way.”
“Emma,” Jess hisses from behind as we follow the usher toward our seats.
“What? They give you free shit sometimes. We might as well see what they have to offer. Besides, it’s my birthday.”
